


If You Ever Come Back

by K_T_Tara



Series: The Script [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, F/M, Headcanon, Post-Reichenbach, Pre-The Empty Hearse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:28:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2327054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_T_Tara/pseuds/K_T_Tara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two years after The Fall were not easy for Molly either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Ever Come Back

**Author's Note:**

> I know I have others that I should be working on, but I couldn't help myself.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> I blame Benedict Cumberbatch...

 

If one couldn't tell, Sherlock Holmes was bloody awful at goodbyes. Terrible, really. And if she wasn't the one he was trying to say goodbye to, Molly would've found it endearing. But oh God, it hurt too damn much to stand awkwardly in the pathetically small kitchen of her flat. Just knowing that as soon as he walked out that door, she'd probably never see him again.

He knew it too, knew there was a very real chance that he'd never be able to return to London again. It was the reason why he hesitated to say the words, thought he's always been horrible at them anyways. More often than not, he ignored them completely, simply making his exit like a whirlwind.

But Molly… she was different. She deserved more than that, she deserved a real goodbye. If only he knew how to do that…

"Well…" he mumbled, eyes looking everywhere but the pathologist in front of him. There were the dishes drying on the towel covered counter, where she had washed this morning's breakfast plates. Then there was the old, horrid cat shaped cookie jar next to the microwave. Old and chipped, but still dusted regularly -family heirloom, then. He also knew from experience that Molly always made sure to have it stocked with fresh baked cookies. He then glanced at the toaster, sitting in a thousand and one pieces on the small kitchen table. It had broken two days earlier and rather than let her throw it out, Sherlock decided to take it apart so he could learn how it worked. Yes, he was that bored being cooped up in Molly Hooper's tiny flat.

With an unknown tightening in his chest, he wondered if she'd throw out the pieces now that he was leaving.

"I suppose this is…" he said quietly, glancing back at her, suddenly wishing he hadn't. The wide eyes, shining with excess wetness, the little indent by the corner of her lips signifying she was biting her cheek: she was about to cry. He really wished she wouldn't. "-goodbye," he finished, the word falling out of his mouth in an exhale.

Her own mouth opened to speak -to say goodbye? to ask when (if) he was coming back? to ask him to stay just a little bit longer?- but in the end she faltered. Sherlock watched as her lips parted then closed a few times; he was especially fascinated in the way she briefly bit her bottom lip. Eventually she asked," Where will you go?" which he thought a valid question. A whole world of criminal network out there to dismantle, and only a slim chance of survival. Where to begin?

So he just shrugged," I was thinking Czech Republic," though he truly wasn't positive. Perhaps Mycroft would have more leads on Moriarty's network which he could work off of. "Oh," Molly hummed, not really all that invested in this conversation that was going nowhere.

' _Awkward_ ,' was all that they both could think at the moment. Then, in a moment of sheer madness -it had to be, there was no other explanation for it- Molly scrabbled at her keyring, furiously working a key off. "Here," she presented it to him and with a jolt, he recognized her spare flat key.

His blue-green eyes flickered back up to her brown ones. "Molly," he admonished, but she didn't give him the chance to finish," Just… just take it." She insisted," I'm not good at goodbyes. Hate the word really. It just feels so… permanent." 'This may very well turn out to be permanent,' he thought, but in the end decided it wasn't worth it to remind her of that fact. "So…" she bit her bottom lip again, her eyes falling from his gaze to stare at the key in her outstretched hand," So when you come back, if… if you need somewhere to crash, you won't have to pick the lock."

Half of Sherlock mentally smiled crookedly: she's yelled at him two separate times for scratching the lock because he didn't have the patience to pick it neatly. The other half of his mind recognized that it was just a thinly veiled excuse. This was about more than just the key… this was _sentiment_.

"You want me to have it as a reminder." Her lips pursed and for just a second, he thought he saw a flash of irritation in her eyes. Oh, that was right. People didn't like when you dismissed their idea of sentiment, didn't they? "Sherlock," she said quietly, half (and then some more) of her patience escaped her in one deep exhale," It's not… I just…" She took another deep breath in, but let this one out slowly. "If you ever come back-" he noticed she said 'if' this time-" I want you to have a place to come back to."

"221B B-" he started to remind her, but with a sharp look she stopped him. (Only Molly ever had the power to silence him with a look. Only her.)

"Yeah, well, it doesn’t hurt to have an extra bolthole."

He smiled lightly. Yes, he supposed that was sensible. But still… "I can't take this with me," he told her," It would be impractical for me to carry it around, and if someone else gets their hands on it, they could trace it back to you."

A huff escaped her, a wry little chuckle. Stupid, sensible, over protective Sherlock. Worried that a little key could lead his enemies straight to her. It was the same reason why he refused to let John know he was alive. Sherlock Holmes was terrified of losing his friends, of someone pointing a little red dot on his best friend's forehead and pulling the trigger. (It comforted Molly to know that he also went to such lengths to make sure the same thing wouldn't happen to her.)

So knowing that she could argue til she was blue in the face and still lose spectacularly, Molly folded the key back into her hand. Her fingers curled protectively around the tiny piece of cool metal. She drew her arm back, cradling the fist holding the key to her chest." It will be under the front mat," she told him.

"You don't have a front-" he started, but she snapped," Then I'll _get_ a front mat." At his skeptic look, she continued," It will have kittens and puppies on it," just the way he hated," that way no one will want to touch it, much less look under it." It was a stupid plan, that was for sure, and stupidly _sentimental_ , but she didn't care.

He opened his mouth, probably to tell her how dumb an idea it was, and how it was practically inviting thieves to rob her home. But his phone chose that moment to ping. It was in his hand before the tone had even ended. Anthea texted him, he saw-

~ _Time to leave. Mycroft's getting antsy~_

Which translated to thirty seconds before Mycroft barged in here and threatened to drag Sherlock out by the ear. If he was ever going to say goodbye to Molly, the time was now. "I have to go," he said instead, sidling away until he could open the door to the hallway.

She watched him almost go, but he paused in the doorway, one hand on the door and the other shoved deep in his pocket. There was an unreadable look in his eyes as he looked back at her one last time," Molly, good-"

"Don't!" she cried out, surprising him," Don't say it, Sherlock. This… this is _not_ goodbye. You _are_ coming back." It was a command, not a request, and for some reason it made him smile. A little, tiny, itsy bitsy part of his heart broke at that exact moment as well when he realized that he couldn't even promise her that.

"Alright," he nodded, more to himself than to her, but decided that if he could ever give her one thing, it would be this," _Not_ goodbye, Molly." And with the feeling only tightening more and more in his chest, Sherlock closed the door behind him.

* * *

 

Molly Hooper went out and bought a doormat the first chance she got (two days later). There was no such thing as a doormat with kittens and puppies, so she settled for one with flowers and a stylized 'Welcome'. It was pretty and feminine and she was positive Sherlock would've hated it still.

She also got a new toaster. But didn't have the heart to throw out the pieces of her old one. So she found an old shoebox and put the parts in that, the box itself then stuffed under her couch.

...

Three days after he left, Molly accidentally set out two cuppas when she sat down to watch the telly. The moment she realized what she had done, she broke down in tears.

...

Two weeks after his 'death', Molly went out for drinks with John and Lestrade. It was… horrible, and she felt like such a villain when she saw the mighty John Watson cry. He quickly wiped the one tear away and pretended it never happened, but she could still see the heartbreak on his face. Greg was more quiet than usual, just gulping down his stout and staring into empty space.

Around that same time, Molly faced suspension and possible termination from her position at Bart's. Apparently being even remotely associated with a 'supposed criminal mastermind' like Sherlock Holmes garnered suspicion. If he had truly faked all those crimes, then -as the Board thought- she had to have been his accomplice, supplying him and falsifying all sorts of records for him. (In truth, she actually _did_ supply him, but only for his experiments and she always made sure he gave the body parts back.)

It didn’t last long, and after only five days in suspension while 'investigation pended', her supervisor called her back in and apologized profusely. She was even given a promotion to Lead Pathologist. The morgue and labs were officially her domain.

When she asked Mike Stamford about it, he laughed and said a strange tall man with red hair brought the proverbial hammer down on the Board. One of the chairmen, rumor had it, had been arrested for embezzling, while another resigned after some… unsavory photos had been found on his computer.

Molly was smart enough to know who was responsible and wasted no time in texting ~ _Thank you_ ~ to Mycroft.

...

A year after Sherlock's 'death', they held a get together in remembrance of him. It was all Mrs. Hudson's idea, and no one could say no to the mother woman. Except for Mycroft, that it, who pleaded work and sent his condolences. (Molly suspected he just didn’t want to be around people mourning his brother's death while he full well knew the opposite)

She seriously envied the elder Holmes' brother for being able to avoid this. To be fair, it could've been much worse, but being the only one not mourning in the room tended to saw at one conscience. At least John wasn't heartbroken anymore. He had a new girlfriend! and apparently it was serious. They've been dating for four months and Molly felt a little guilty that she had no idea until now.

Mary Morstan seemed good for John, cracking jokes to make everyone smile and wasn't at all put off when they regaled her with stories of some murders Sherlock's solved. She was particularly fascinated with Molly, and had even asked for her own thoughts on Sherlock.

It extremely humbled Molly. Partly because for the life of her, Molly just could not talk about Sherlock as if he was dead, and partly because she didn't know if anyone had told Mary about her none-too-secret infatuation with him.

Then Mary had to go and say," So you were like his very own pathologist. I bet that was nice; would've made you indispensible." But all Molly could think was his confession over a year ago,' _You do count.'_

...

Fifteen months after Sherlock's 'death', Molly had not heard one word from him. She didn't know what continent he might be on, if he was okay, or if he was even alive. If… if something happened to him… Mycroft would tell her…right?

When she asked him about it, he merely stated," My wayward brother is extremely difficult to kill, Ms. Hooper, you know that."

She took it as both good news and bad news. Good bit: he was alive and still raising hell wherever he was. Bad bit: if he hadn't bothered to contact her by now, then he obviously wasn't planning to ever. 'He's not coming back,' she mourned and spent the rest of the night cuddling with her cat, Toby.

And yet… the key remained under the front mat.

...

Nineteen months after he left, one of Molly's cousins introduced her to a sweet young lad named Tom.

...

Two years after Sherlock's 'death', Molly was still dating Tom and was actually quite happy. He got along well with Toby, helped her cook and wash the dishes afterwards, and was a very attentive boyfriend. And one day, while she was tidying up and went to hang up his coat -a large trench much like Sherlock's. She still isn't sure how she feels about that- something fell out of the pocket. Bending over to pick it up, she almost screamed… it was a little box, the perfect size to fit a ring… And for a moment, just a moment, Molly forgot about the shoebox under the couch with a toaster in pieces…

But still… the key remained under the front mat…

* * *

 

Two years after his 'death', Sherlock Holmes came back.


End file.
